


The One With The Waggly Tail

by tiptopevak



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Doggy daycare au?, M/M, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 06:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10508373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptopevak/pseuds/tiptopevak
Summary: He's smiling at the dog, but, okay, maybe a little bit at Isak, too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *SHRUGS AND HIDES*

Ten o’ clock on the brightest morning that their buttery spring has seen yet - and Isak’s busy dragging this melted bundle of fluffy chocolate fur to _doggy daycare_.

He’s never holding a bet with Eskild again. Ever.

The dog is cute enough while it wiggles itself happy down the warm-blooded footpath, tail wagging so fierce it’s the dictator of direction and tongue hanging loose. The little pitter patter of its paws is like music, too, a rhythm to follow along when it’s not pausing to yip and yap at a patch of flowers.

Kinda cute, Isak supposes.

Not so cute when it’s the middle of the night and the thing is scrambling _all_ over Isak’s face in bed. Licking, slurping, _drooling_ in its desperate nuzzling mission of finding Isak’s nose to chew upon with bursts of all of its tiny might. Not so cute, then.

But, now. Maybe?

And it looks like it should be called Rover. 

“Just one day,” Eskild had explained, soft bagel bitten in his mouth and spoon of his yoghurt stabbing the countertop, splattering a little. “You lost the bet. You take Escobar to school.”

It looks like a _Rover_.

The heat of the sun is gluing the back of his shirt to his neck by the time they reach the centre, and he almost feels like joining the dog in the impatient tantrum its having at the end of the leash, nearly strangling itself in its effort to leap through the glass of the entrance door. Instead, Isak’s shoulders huff out a breath, and he rolls his eyes, scoops the furry thing up to tuck under his arm before it has a mini heart attack at his feet.

“Calm down,” he says, strokes his fingers through the tuft of fur between its ears soothingly. Balances the dog against his chest and tries to elbow down the handle of the door with the free arm. “You’re going to run your legs off. Just- lemme get the door open, okay? _ChilI_.”

It tries to toss its head round 360 degrees to nip its little milk teeth at Isak’s skin, but once the door is worked open, Isak dangles the a metre away from his chest for some distance and steps inside.

And then-

“ _Escobar!_ ” pops a sudden voice from behind the blinding mint-green countertop.

Followed by a boy, and _ohmygod_.

Isak feels the cherry-red blush start in the curl of his toes and climb to fill his cheeks.

The boy’s standing up from the chair tucked neat behind the desk, and just- keeps _standing._ There’s a lot of him. He’s tall. Taller than Isak. Shirt sleeves rolled rough up to his elbows, tired coif of his blonde hair, and bright eyes _smiling_ their way over to Isak.

Okay, over to the dog. But.

Maybe Isak. A little.  

He says, like the excitement is wound thick through his veins, “Escobar!” again, and plucks the dog out of Isak’s arms. He cuddles him in close, and the dog is _breathless_ with joy, squirming itself around, like it’s never been this thrilled in its life.

Isak honestly understands. The boy’s arms look _nice._

And he’s sweeping a glance back up at Isak again, all wide and whirlpool-blue eyes, and Isak’s mouth is falling _graciously_ open and closed, like a fish.

“You’re good with dogs,” he hiccups the laugh out, dumbly. Twists his hands deep in his pockets.

The boy’s smile is warmer than the sunshine, but he quirks an eyebrow. “That’s why I work here.”

And Isak- just, blushes again, because _what the fuck, Isak._ He bobs his head in a nod, and mumbles, “Yeah- _yeah_. I’ll pick him up… later.”

“Where’s Eskild today? Are you his partner?”

So sudden that Isak’s face drains pale. He almost _chokes_ on the sudden knot of his lungs.

“No, jesus, no, _no_ ,” coughs it out, shakes the images from his head. “Lost a bet. Loser had to get up and take-“ he juts out his chin towards the jittery dog- “Rover here to dayca- to here.”

“Rover?”

He blinks, wiggles his shoulders and makes himself sound like Eskild, “ _Escobar_?”

The boy laughs, and it brushes the dust off the butterflies in Isak’s tummy. He breathes out the nerves, rocks forward up and down on his toes, like he’s restless.

“Just need your name, then, so we can have it down in the records who’s collecting him.”

“Isak.”

“Even,” and he’s smiling again, and this time, it’s not at Escobar at all.

Isak’s halfway home and halfway through his ice cream cone before he stops repeating the name in his head.


End file.
